Rekindling the Flame
by ShutMeintheLoonyBin
Summary: Ron and Hermione have been married for nearly eight years. Over time, careers, children, and other catastrophes have led to Mr. and Mrs. Ronald Weasley to lose their spark. What happens when they try to rekindle their flame? Please RR! not DH compliant
1. Chapter 1: Prologue

"…and that's when it all started to fall apart."

So you're saying," the doctor said skeptically, staring straight into Ron's eyes, "that your marriage is falling apart because your wife refuses to wash your clothes?"

Hermione rolls her eyes.

"_Ronald_, that is the most ridiculous, juvenile thing you have ever said, which means quite a lot considering I have known you for seventeen years!"

"No it's not! This marriage is supposedly based on equality. How does that work when you don't wash my clothes for me!"

"Ronald, give me a single instance in which you have washed anything in our house! Not a dish, sock, or anything at all!"

"Well, I do a hell of a lot more than you do! I'm the one that minds Ella!"

"Oh, of course you mind Ella. For HALF AN HOUR AT A TIME WHILE I'M RUNNING TO THE STORE TO BUY FOOD FOR _YOU _TO EAT!!!"

"Stop, stop, **stop**, _**stop**_, _**STOP**_!!!" The poor marriage counselor, Dr. Barnes, looked rather alarmed, and for quite a good reason. Hermione's voice had risen alarmingly; her voice was as high as that of a soprano opera singer, and as loud as humanly possible.

"Now both of you calm down, and tell me how your marriage actually started to slip. Hermione, talk."

……………………………………………………………………………………………..

"The real reason our marriage is collapsing? We don't spend nearly enough time together. Ron is always at Gringotts, and when I'm not minding Ella or doing housework, I'm at St. Mungo's. Sometimes, the only time we see each other is when we're Flooing to work, and that's in the middle of the Network."

Ron interjected angrily. "That's not true! Yesterday, I came home for dinner!"

"Well, I didn't come home until after you were almost done. I had to bring Ella shopping!"

"That's not my fault!!! I found some quality time to spend with my wife and daughter, and they don't even show up!"

"Quality time? QUALITY TIME!?!?! You call eating dinner with your family quality time? That's expected! Quality time is taking me to see the London Philharmonic, or a picnic in the park! Quality time isn't dashing home to get a bite to eat because all the restaurants are full and you have a bit of time between meetings!"

Poor Dr. Barnes had retreated into a corner. Hermione was standing, arms crossed and face tomato red. Her hair was poofing into a giant mushroom cloud. Ron, however, looked totally unfazed.

Hermione's rant wasn't over. "And while you're at your meetings and conferences? Who's left at home to mind Ella and cook and clean and wash the clothes? All you do when you get home, which is a rarity, is plop down with the _Prophet_ to see who won the Quidditch matches! And all the while, I'm running around making sure that YOU'RE comfortable, that YOU'RE not hungry, that YOU are happy. Why don't you ever raise blisters on your feet doing my every bidding?"

Dr. Barnes decided to take action. After all, he couldn't spend the rest of his life waiting in the corner for this lioness to finally stop roaring, could he?

"Mr. Weasley, Mrs. Granger-Weasley. My prescription is a healthy dose of time together. I advise a leave of absence from your respective jobs. Go to France, bring your daughter. Have picnics in the park. Mr. Weasley, bring your wife to the Philharmonic, the ballet, wherever she wishes. You merely need time to bond, to rediscover yourselves and each other, and to rekindle the flame."


	2. Chapter 2: The Culinary Disaster

Hermione woke to the sounds of songbirds chattering on the maple branch outside her window. A golden ray of sunlight streamed through the window and lit up the room. She yawned and stretched, then glanced at the clock.

It read 9:00….

And Hermione freaked out. She screamed, then rolled out of bed, tangled in sheets and quilts. Hopping madly around, she managed to get herself dressed (sort of, as her socks were mismatched and her shirt was inside out). Hermione picked up her hairbrush and hurriedly tried to brush her hair and twist it into a bun. However, her hair, to no surprise, defied all efforts to tame it. This further distraught Hermione, who began muttering under her breath.

"Oh my god oh my god oh my god oh my god oh my god!!! I'm so late for work, and there's a conference today! Oh no!!!!!"

At that moment, the door swung open. Hermione turned toward the door, expecting to see Ella toddle in. However, the figure at the door wasn't the short, adorably chubby three year old she expected. Instead, a six foot, three inches tall, muscular figure, swathed in pajama bottoms and an apron, stood at the door. He held a tray in his hands and had a sheepish smile on his face.

"Ron! What are you doing here?"

"Good morning to you too. And what are you doing out of bed?"

"Ronald, I have _work_. I was supposed to be at the hospital three hours ago! And Ella too, it's the maid's day off; she's not fed or dressed! If you were home, why didn't you WAKE ME???"

"You're not at your best in the morning. Remember, Dr. Barnes told us to take a few weeks off. I called in this morning to the bank and the hospital for two months away for personal time."

Ron beamed happily. He was obviously very proud over his accomplishment.

Hermione heaved a deep sigh. She quite obviously wasn't as pleased.

"Ron, that's very sweet that you want to spend time together, but we simply can't spare two months. I have next to no vacation time saved, and what will happen to our finances?"

"You worry far too much, 'Mione. Your supervisor told me you had near half a year, and as for money, I wouldn't worry. I'm getting paid vacation time. Now you have no arguments, so get back into bed. I woke up early to make this for you!" Ron gestured at the tray, filled with food that looked neither appetizing nor edible.

Hermione climbed back into the bed. Ron brought the tray over to her and perched on the side of the bed while she poked unenthusiastically at the food. There were two slices of burned toast, paired with a rubbery looking omelet. An apple, hacked into uneven wedges, lay browned and sad on the edge of the tray. A cup of cold coffee sat side-by-side with a glass of lukewarm milk. Altogether, her breakfast looked rather pitiful, though she would never admit it to Ron, with his eager grin and puffed out chest, so proud of his good deed.

"Thank you, dear. It looks delicious, but shouldn't you eat as well?"

"Got it." He whipped out another tray, identical to the one in Hermione's lap. Ron pulled out forks and gave one to Hermione.

"Well, it looks…fantastic," Hermione exclaimed, lying through her teeth. "I can't wait."

"Cheers," Ron replied, clinking his coffee cup against hers. Hermione took a tentative sip, while Ron gulped down half of his coffee. An observer would have found the scene amusing indeed. Hermione's face was scrunched up in a most unusual way; her lips were pursed as if she was trying hard not to gag. And that wasn't all, her eyes were screwed up as if drinking the coffee gave her pain. Meanwhile, Ron looked perfectly happy.

"Good coffee!" He then enthusiastically dug into his omelet. Through a mouthful of egg, he said, "'is innt 'ad. I nah suh a ba coo, am I?"

"Ronald, swallow."

He chewed for a second more, then gulped down his mouthful. "This isn't bad. I'm not such a bad cook, am I"

Hermione took a tiny bite herself, then gagged and reached for her coffee cup to wash down the eggs; however, the weak, watery, oversweetened coffee didn't help much. It didn't drown out the horrendous flavor of the omelet, which was a salty as a deer lick and dry as sand. The texture was even worse; it somehow managed to be limp and rubbery at the same time.

"It's…not bad, not bad…at all…" Hermione trailed off.

Somehow, Ron, the man with the emotional range of a teaspoon, and the observational skills to match, noticed her tone. His face fell slightly.

"You don't like it, do you?" Hermione, caught in a spotlight, stammered out, "O-of course I do. I… I love it!"

She quickly took an enormous bite of the toast, with disastrous results. The toast was harder than a rock, and she somehow cut her lip on it. It was also incredibly dry; Hermione gagged and coughed the hunk of toast out. She gulped down the remnants of her coffee, then gagged again. Ron, alarmed, pounded her on the back. Gasping and spluttering, Hermione raised her head. Her face was red and blotchy, and her hair was frizzing out of control.

"I'm so so sorry! You should have told me how bad my food was!"

"No, no, don't apologize. It was sweet of you to think of it. I'll just get up and make us a proper breakfast."

Ron nodded and extended a hand for her to grasp to get out of bed. Together, they walked into the kitchen, where they were immediately accosted by their angelic little daughter.

"Mommy mommy mommy! Can I have ice cream?"

Hermione laughed and said, "Darling, it's 9:30. Later, dear."

"Hermione, let her have some fun. Ice cream for breakfast sounds good to me!"

Hermione sighed, but agreed. "All right, ice cream party for breakfast!"

Ron and Ella cheered like the children they were. The father scooped up his little girl and they ran towards the freezer. The mother laughed and shook her head resignedly. She headed towards a cabinet to grab spoons and bowls.

Ten minutes later, Hermione was wondering who the real kid was. Ron was dumping various ice creams and candy bars into the blender, presumably to make shakes for them. Sighing, she plopped down on the counter and scooped a generous helping of fudge ripple frozen yogurt for herself. Ella, who was sitting next to her, looked up at her with an adoring, pleading look in her eyes. Finally, Hermione relented and gave her daughter a heaping spoonful. Ella cuddled up close and Hermione kissed her small daughter. At that moment, Ron banged down the blender and three tall glasses. With a flourish, he popped the top off and poured the shakes out…or tried to. The shakes were far too thick to pour.

Hermione laughed and exclaimed, "You're just a culinary disaster, sweetie."

Ron chuckled. "Ya got that right, babe."


	3. Chapter 3: Shoes and Surprises

** A/N: Yeah, can't believe I totally forgot the disclaimer! Anyway, this goes for all chapters of this story, previous and future. Ron, Hermione, Harry, and Ginny don't belong to me. Neither does the magical world of Harry Potter, sadly. However, Ella does! Yay!**

"Ron?"

"Yes?" Ron's reply came from Ella's room, where he was busy trying to persuade her into wearing her new dress.

"Harry's birthday is in a week. Ginny called, she wants us to help her throw him a surprise party."

"Oh, come on. The sucker hates big parties. Let's just take him out to dinner."

"You're just saying that because you hate helping. Too late, anyway. Ginny's sending out the invitations."

"Fine, I'll go…but I'm not going shopping with you for a new dress!"

"That's perfectly fine. What I want is a new pair of shoes!"

Ron sighed. Normally, when Hermione wanted to go shopping, he simply would have made excuses-that he needed to spend some extra time so he could get a promotion, that his department was understaffed and he had to put a few more hours in. And then, he would run off the the Leaky Cauldron with Harry for a few pints and complain about their wives for a bit. But now that he had time off work, there were no excuses.

"Fine…shall we go?"

"Yes, is Ella dressed?"

Ron surveyed his four year old daughter. The pretty sky blue dress her Aunt Ginny had given her was wrinkled. Her auburn curls were messily braided into sloppy pigtails and her normally happy smile was gone in favor of a frown. One Mary Jane shoe was on, but buckled incorrectly. The other had been thrown against the wall ten minutes ago.

"Yes, just about. Come, see your pretty little daughter!"

Hermione walked in and groaned in despair.

"Ella, darling, why aren't you dressed?"

" 'Cause I don't like dresses! I wanna wear pants like Daddy does! And I don't like braids! They make me look like I'm a little girl!"

"But sweetie, you are a little girl. They make you look adorable!"

"I don't wanna be a little girl!! I wanna run and fly and play Quidditch like James and Brian do!"

Hermione looked at Ron, who seemed quite proud that his little girl wanted to play Quidditch, then rolled her eyes.

"Ella, the twins are boys. They're yucky gross boys like Daddy and Uncle Harry. Aunt Ginny and Uncle Harry let James and Brian run around and get dirty and messy because they're little boys, not a little lady like you."

"So??? Daddy said that when you were a girl, you never wore dresses either. And Uncle Fred said that Aunt Angelina was a little wildcat, and that she didn't wear dresses or stupid shoes."

"Honey, just wear the dress to make Mommy and Aunt Ginny happy. Please?? With a Golden Snitch on top?"

Ella considered her mother's plea, and finally gave in. She let Hermione straighten the ruffly pale blue garment and fasten both shoes onto her feet. Carefully, Hermione eased the matching pale blue ribbons off Ella's braids and brushed the long curls carefully.

Ron watched his beautiful wife and angelic daughter proudly. _Maybe that Dr. Barnes was right. I did need to take some time off, get to really know my family. After all, not even Harry has a better one, and he's got my baby sister and those strong little Quidditch players._

………………………………………………………………………………………………

Hermione was sitting on a bench. Alone. Simply because the rest of it was occupied by at least a dozen boxes of shoes. Shoes that all looked identical to Ron. He sighed. Women and their mysteries.

"Ron? Which do you like better?"

She gestured at two pairs of shoes, both of which were black, high-heeled, and had a tiny little bow on the peep-toe.

"Erm…that one." He gestured at the shoe on her left foot.

"Really? You don't think the heel makes my ankle look fat?" She considered her ankles in the mirror then turned to look at him.

"Not at all. They look perfectly…slender and…ankle-like."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Come on. I suppose I've put you through enough hell."

Ron gave a silent cheer before following Hermione and her selected pair of shoes, but nearly ran into her. She had halted suddenly, for no apparent reason.

"What the bloody hell?"

Hermione was so occupied she forgot to reprimand him for his language, even though Ella was next to them. Ron looked around curiously, but saw nothing but racks of clothes and handbags. He followed her gaze and saw…a man.

"Hey! You're staring at that guy! That blond one wearing a black shirt!" Ron exclaimed indignantly. Hermione glanced at him in surprise.

"Not the man, _Ronald, _the dress he's standing next to."

For the first time, Ron noticed the man's surroundings. Next to him was a mannequin modeling a green evening gown. It seemed a bit ordinary to him, but he said, "Yes, that's beautiful for you. Try it on!" to make Hermione happy. Before the words were even out of his mouth, she had bounded over to the rack behind the mannequin to find the dress in her size, in the process nearly knocking the blond guy to the ground.

Forty-five minutes later, Ron was sitting on a bench outside the ladies' fitting room, cursing his mouth and the mannequin. Just when he thought the torture was over, no! She had to see that cursed dress!

And then, all the thoughts were knocked out of his head.

His wife stood in front of him. Her hair was swept off her shoulders and twisted into a loose bun, from which frizzy strands were escaping. And then…the dress…

Hermione's slim figure was wrapped in a perfectly cut emerald silk gown. Halter straps showed off her cleavage perfectly-just a little bit. The gown flowed over her torso like a waterfall. The department store lights reflected a soft sheen off of the material so it looked like she had a halo all around her. Ron could see Hermione's toes peeking from under the gown. He motioned for her to turn.

All the thoughts were knocked out of his head…again. Her back was bare, as the dress featured a revealing scoop that dipped almost to her behind. The dress flowed in loose flounces all the way down to the floor, where it pooled in a small train.

Hermione giggled; she couldn't help it. Ron's expression was simply hilarious. His eyes were wider than she would have thought possible and his jaw had dropped so far she could see his tonsils.

"I can see that you like it."

Ron nodded enthusiastically, like a hyper little puppy.

"Yeah, um, you look…nice…"

Ella broke in. "Mommy looks like the most beautiful mommy in the world!"

Hermione laughed. "Thank you darling!" To Ron, she asked,"Can I have it? It's perfect for the formal ball!"

"Okay!"

"…Ron?"

"…yes?"

"Are you all right?"

"Perfect."

"You seem a bit out of it…you haven't asked which formal ball."

"All right, what formal ball?"

"Ginny's surprise party for Harry! She booked the Ministry of Magic ballroom! She told Harry it was in honor of old Healer Dunnaway."

"That's nice darling."

"Yeah, you're still in shock."

"That's nice."

Hermione rolled her eyes and turned around for the dressing room. Ron slumped against the wall, a starstruck expression in his eyes. Ella giggled and snuck a Chocolate Frog out of his robe pocket.


	4. Chapter 4: The Midget's Birthday, Pt 1

A/N: Yeah, I know that Ella doesn't exist in real Potterland (total oxymoron, I know). This is AU now, as I'm not willing to re-edit so Ron and Hermione have two kids, neither of them named Ella, which is a name I love. So if you must, pretend that Hugo is in hiding, Ella is actually named Rose, and that Harry and Ginny have three kids. Thanks.

"Are you ready yet?"

"Just a minute," Hermione called from their bedroom.

Ron closed his mouth and sank deeper into his armchair. Ella had already been sent off to Grandmum Granger's, as Grandma Weasley would be attending Harry's surprise party as well.

Ron waited for Hermione for all of ten seconds before pulling himself up and striding to their room. He promptly barged in, because, being a male Weasley, and Ron at that, meant he had absolutely no social skills.

"Hey! Get out, I'll come out when I'm ready!"

"But I'm bored!"

"Your problem. Now go away."

Ron reluctantly went to the kitchen. _If I can't watch, then I do what I do best- eat._

"And don't eat! You'll get food all over your tuxedo and dress robes!"

_Or not._

He sighed. Women. It took him all of five minutes to put on his clothes and brush his hair, all of which he had done half an hour ago. But no, Hermione needed a long bath, complete with bubbles, bath salts, and book. And then, she had set up some sort of home spa thingy and invited Ginny and Luna over for an hour. Ron had been banished to the Leaky Cauldron for the time. When he came home, pleasantly drunk, he had found the three women lounging on the sofa with nasty green goop smeared all over their faces, undoubtedly gossiping about him, Harry, and Neville.

Blokes definitely got the short end of the stick.

But Ron got Hermione. Fair trade off, in Ron's mind.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Hermione finally emerged at fifteen to six. Ron had no doubt that she would have stayed holed up in the bathroom primping, but they had promised Ginny they would get there early and help the event planner set up, as Ginny had to stay home with Ginny. Hermione never broke an obligation, even for the sake of beauty.

She was wearing the gorgeous dress, and over that, a sheer lace robe that was the same color as the white pear-shaped pearl she wore on the gold chain he had given her for their anniversary. The robe covered the small train perfectly, and long sleeves covered her otherwise bare arms. The robe clasped at the navel, following the deep v-neck of the dress, and then the robe swept off the skirt and flowed over the train. The clasp matched the necklace; it was made of four white pearls set into a diamond shape in yellow gold.

"You look beautiful. As always." Ron added the last two words impulsively, knowing she would like it.

"Thanks. You look good as well."

Ron was wearing an iron-grey Muggle tuxedo, and over that heavy robes of the same color. However, the robes shimmered ever so slightly in the light. Hermione had picked them out, and he had worn the outfit to please her, though it made him feel like Barty Crouch Sr. in his stiff, crisp clothes.

Ron's hair, however, was couldn't be more unlike Crouch's. His red hair was tousled, and slightly overlong, as he hadn't had a haircut in seven months. Hermione's, though, was perfect. She had used a spell to turn her semi-frizzy curls into smooth waves. When Hermione turned around, Ron saw yet more pearls; a hair clasp like the one on her robes pulled her hair back partially. Now that he thought about it, Ron's mum had probably given the set to her. They looked vaguely like something he had seen Great Aunt Stacy wear before her death.

"All right, let's go. We can't be late." Hermione steered Ron away from the fireplace, where he had drifted vaguely. He had already taken a pinch of floo powder, which, funnily, matched the hue of Hermione's dress exactly.

"Of course we can't take the Floo, Ronald. It would absolutely ruin our clothes."

"Right…come on then." Ron grabbed Hermione's hand and they spun and disappeared together…

And reappeared in front of a very grumpy young woman.

"And WHO exactly do you think YOU are!? This ballroom had been booked by a MISS GINEVRA WEASLEY. And you don't look like a Weasley, so get out."

"Actually, it's Mrs. Ginevra Weasley Potter now. Have you been living under a rock?"

The woman didn't seem to take too kindly to that. She readjusted her rectangular glasses and glared at Hermione with dark grey eyes.

"Either way, you're still not Mrs. Potter, so get out of my way."

"No, looks like you need our help. I'm Hermione Weasley. Ginny sent my husband and I to help with the preparations. Clearly," Hermione glanced around at the disheveled ballroom, "we were needed."

"All right, whatever." The lady flicked a strand of platinum blond hair off her cheek "Do whatever you want."

Hermione pulled her wand out of her clutch. Ron moved off to the side. He didn't think he would be terribly needed, and Hermione was doing it all anyway.

Ron was thoroughly impressed. The cavernous ballroom was draped in regal purple and gold streamers. An enormous banner that read, 'Happy Birthday, Harry' was hung on the wall opposite the large French doors. The caterers Ginny had hired were busily setting up the meal and drinks on a long mahogany buffet table. Another table was cleared for presents. The gold dance floor was gleaming, having been hit with numerous polishing spells from Hermione. Tables and chairs were set up in the quarter of the room not taken up by the dance floor.

_Just in time, and the room looks perfect. Harry will love it._

Another A/N: The second part to The Midget's Birthday will come later today or over the weekend. At the latest, it will be uploaded Monday. I promise the fun starts then…


	5. Chapter 5: Not an Actual Chapter

This isn't a chapter, just an author's note.

I'm really, really, horribly sorry about the delay in the update, but I got sick over the weekend, and I still don't feel great. I promise that I'll have the new chapter up by the weekend though. Entertain yourself with my other stories. :D

-Your loyal authoress, ShutMeintheLoonyBin/Merry


End file.
